To turn the wound against all scars.

Les Enfants Terribles (The Holy Terrors) by Jean Cocteau

– The mirror, which has begun to come alive, revealing within its depths a spectral figure, motionless, poised midway between floor and cornice, added a further touch of travesty to this aerial swelling, swept darkly ever and again by the broad headlight of a passing car.

– Dreams resound with footsteps, mindless, purposeful, like hers; dreams lend us a gait lighter than winged flight, a step able to combine the statue’s weight of inorganic marble with the sub-aqueous freedom of a deep-sea diver.